A Welcome From Kris Demeanor
When most kids went to the Calgary Stampede as cowboys
and cowgirls, I went as a pioneer merchant/pharmacist,
in black and white dress clothes and a ribbon tie, and
headed straight for the quilting display.
After the grade three class went to the zoo, I drafted
a lengthy tirade about inadequate cages for the large
cats.
I wanted more than anything else to live in a world of
gnomes.
During an anti nuke march with Youth Action For Peace
in Grade 11, I withstood taunts of Get a job from
yokels in trucks and sang Where Have All Flowers
Gone at the downtown rally only to realize the peace
sign I had painted on my placard was actually a
Mercedes Benz logo and no one had the heart to tell
me.
I am by nature a contrarian, and also a coward, in so
far as I have never let sanctimony get in the way of
being well liked. Calgary breeds such divided souls.My parents are artists, atheists and socialists. They
have been the only NDP sign and the only unpaved
driveway in the riding of Preston Manning and Stephen
Harper. My sister Monika and I were raised with all
the comforts and distractions a city suburb affords,
and were instilled with a first hand love of the
natural world, an awareness of the importance of
travel, social justice, laughter, sport, ritual,
Esperanto, and fine food.Early poetry and songwriting revealed an obsession
with social gratification and romantic conquest, all
the more pointless because physically I was about as
developed as a sea monkey until I was 20. After
busking and drinking through Europe and the Middle
East for a couple of years, I realized that other
peoples lives and other countries provided better
fodder for songs and stories than my own, and adjusted
my writing accordingly. I have since found that there
is plenty to write about right here in Calgary, at the
crossroads of guilt and shame.I have had the same friends since elementary school,
and it has been good to go from raiding gardens in our
pajamas to doing bottle hoots to Rastaman Vibration to
sitting at the reservoir listening to the Springsteen
Live box set talking about being famous by 21 to
carving ANARCHY into our forearms with dull pins to
playing Fishermans Blues at the harbour market in Old
Jaffa to seeing each others joy and contentment
levels heightened through finding life partners and
having offspring.Playing my own music in bars and at festivals around
the world has been a gift, as has meeting and engaging
with a great number of fiercely talented artists who I
have come to adore and envy. They constantly inspire.I have learnt very little that sticks. Everything is
true. Boxing is a sport of elegance and barbarism.
Magpies will be disdained for their incessant chatter
and admired for their wits and resourcefulness. Cities
are places of vibrancy and culture and they are zoos
of misery. Humans are spiritual and romantic
creatures who crave love and acceptance. They are
ignorant and mean and mired in addiction and unhealthy
sex obsession. I don't know if some people are evil
or just confused. I don't know if I should hate or
pity them. It's certainly more satisfying to hate
them.The artist entertains. The artist distracts,
illuminates, creates atmospheres of engagement and
common interest, chronicles the Great Demise. The
artist is hooked on the promise of the next ego
stroke, and dreams of a low interest mortgage and a
games room with a bar.I am pleased to be part of this great web of other
people, musicians and lovers of music. We can share,
and screw with our identities, and comfortably adjust
the amount of intimacy and anonymity. Welcome!Kris
